True Colours
by Obwohl
Summary: “Your true colours are never revealed, they are always there. People just don’t notice when you change shades.”
1. Chapter 1

**True Colours**

**Disclaimer – I do not in any way own NCIS or its characters – they belong to others.**

The soft grey fur of Bert tickled Abby's nose. She drew her hand along her face softly to brush away the mild annoyance, her ring catching on her dark fringe and pulling out a few strands of hair. In her sleep she frowned and rolled over onto the cold floor of her lab. The sudden iciness of the laminate floor on her cheek shocked her awake, with her sudden movement jarring Bert, forcing a deep gastric noise from inside his greyish green stuffing. She sat up slowly as she rubbed her eyes. Bright rays of sunlight shone through the high windows and refracted through beakers and off her numerous computers. She stifled a yawn while she stretched out her other pale arm. The silver studded band on her wrist shone the harsh light into her face and she recoiled out of the sunshine.

Her head hurt, Abby realised as she pushed herself out of the makeshift bed on the floor. As the lab came into better focus she saw a large bottle of vanilla vodka sitting on the work bench above her. Empty – she thought to herself as she tentatively picked it up. She set it back down again, and it sounded like a gunshot right next her ear, and she slapped her hands over her ears. In pain, she flopped back onto Bert, who made his gastric music once more. A new sound alerted Abby a few moments after she closed her eyes.

"Morning Abs."

She groaned and covered her face with her arms. Opening her eyes a fraction she saw the shiny shoes of Gibbs standing next to her.

"Gibbs, can you please not shout?" Her reply came muffled from behind her limbs.

"Sorry, Abs."

Cold air brushed her arm, followed by a cold drip of water. One heavily mascara-ed eye opened. This tiny effort was rewarded by the sight of a tall red and white cup. It was her beloved Caff-Pow.

Black-nailed fingers extended towards the beacon of consciousness. Abby sat up again as she drew the drink to her lips. As she quietly sucked through the straw, Gibbs crouched down in front of her. He watched her patiently as she finished drinking.

Finally Abby dropped the over-sized cup from her mouth and set it on the floor loudly, hardly cringing at the noise it made. The caffeine had started to kick in. Gibbs offered his hand to Abby once he had stood up, and she gratefully accepted his assistance. Abby wobbled slightly as she stood. She looked down at her feet; she had no shoes on, and only wore one black and red stripy sock. Raising her eyes to meet her friend's, she bit her lip, silently apologising for her state.

Gibbs shook his head with a crooked smile and reached behind him. He placed another giant red and white cup in her hands and gently directed her towards her computer. Abby opened her eyes wide and looked at Gibbs, trying to give him her full attention.

"What have you got for me, Gibbs?" She asked in a semi-seriously way.

"I need you to find out who has access to the Avalanche case files." Gibbs said as he placed a brown folder on her steel bench. Abby frowned slightly.

"Why do you want me to do it, Gibbs? Can't a normal agent do this? It isn't forensics."

"I know Abs, but your also pretty good at computers." Abby raised her eyebrows, clearly asking – _Only 'pretty good'?_ "Someone has been accessing these files that shouldn't have, and the files are on computers as well."

Abby wasn't satisfied.

"Gibbs, why do you want me to do this? What is Avalanche?"

He looked at her plainly. His expression shouted at Abby to just get on with it and don't ask any more questions.

"Can you just do this for me, Abby? It's important."

Abby searched his face for a clue that could tell her more. She found none and sighed in resignation. It was not that she was unhappy about the job, but the secrecy of it made her uneasy. She became even more uncomfortable when Gibbs muttered to her- "There is no need to tell anyone else about this."

Gibbs quit from Abby's presence wordlessly, the sound of his shoes tapping on the floor getting quieter the only sign of his departure. Abby bit her lip thoughtfully and picked up the fat brown folder. She flicked the cover open and turned over the front page, full of uselessly self important words like confidential, and NCIS page livery. The next page had a short paragraph – the only thing she would bother to read out of the hundreds of pages beneath it.

She skimmed over the words, her caffeinated brain not taking in a word. Slapping herself in the face to calm herself down, she began again, muttering the odd word as she read them.

_NCIS… FBI… MI5… naval bases…security…new codes…new shared technology… stealth weaponry…international cooperation…dates of transfer… _

Abby shook her head. How big was this? She dragged her keyboard closer to the edge of the desk and jabbed the on button of her computer. Her rolling chair was dragged from its curiously new place – upside down in the gap between Major Mass Spec and the wall.

_What did I do_ _last night? _She wondered as she spied her waste paper basket, filled with coloured light bulbs and sticky tape. Shrugging off her curiosity away she logged into her computer and began her search in the NCIS database access logs.

Tim pressed his fore head onto the cool metal of the elevator walls. His head ache radiated into his shoulders and down his back. The soft _ding _of the elevator thundered through his ears, forcing him to close his eyes, begging for the pain to subside.

_Thank god the floor is carpet on our level, _he thought to himself. His shirt was slightly rumpled and his tie was slightly crooked. Sleeping in his car had not been the best idea he had ever had. He caught his reflection in the shiny steel doors and straightened himself up, even though he knew every one in his team would notice he was in yesterday's clothes, and he would be pounced upon the second he entered the bull pen. The only way he could possibly get away with it was if he could get to his desk before anyone else and pretend he had pulled an all nighter.

He crept down the corridor, not to hide his approach – that would just draw more attention to himself – but to prevent his head getting shaken by his steps. As he rounded the corner he saw no one from his team. No Gibbs, no Ziva, no T…

McGee stumbled as he walked between his and Tony's desk. Papers and his stapler fell from onto the floor loudly. Barely stopping himself from crashing to the floor he saw a sleeping Tony spread out under his desk, his legs reaching out across the carpet. Tony groaned softly and rolled over, his face now mashed up against his filing cabinet. Tim breathed out in relief. He flopped down into his chair, which squeaked softly.

Tony jerked up off the floor, wrinkles imprinted on his face from being slept on for too long.

"Yeah Boss!"

He blinked stupidly as he pushed himself into a seal-like position, looking around for the source of the noise. When he spied McGee sitting at his desk, he grinned sheepishly.

"Hi, McMorning. You're not Gibbs."

"You don't say," Tim shook his head.

"What are you doing here so early?"

Tony rolled over and sat splay legged on the floor, scratching his head. Tim sat up straighter in his chair and looked down at his fellow agent.

"I think the more pertinent question, is what are _you _doing here so _late_?"

McGee smirked. Tony smiled as he rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth to reply but stopped just before he could for his words. He cocked his head to the side and closed his lips, confused.

"I… uh… don't actually know." He began to worry.

"What don't you know, DiNozzo?" Gibbs appeared in the bull pen, standing with his cup of coffee in his hand between his two agents' desks. "It's a pretty broad statement Tony, do you want to be a bit more specific?"

"Uh, what I did last night." Tony replied, scratching his head again.

"How is that unusual, Tony?" A new, deep feminine voice joined the conversation. Ziva threw her bag down and hopped up onto her desk.

"It's unusual, Zee-vah, because I was here last night, and I am still here. I don't usually have a shot or ten at my desk at work." He jumped up off the floor and breathed on Ziva's face. "No scotch. See? Or any other drinks."

Ziva pulled a sour face as she kicked Tony off her.

"All I smell is morning breath."

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs slapped Tony on his head hard. "Don't do that."

Tony rubbed the back of his scalp. Gibbs turned away from Tony and looked McGee up and down. "What, did you sleep the night here too?"

McGee stopped smiling at the taunting Tony had just received and once again became conscious of his dishevelled clothes.

"I… uh… slept in my car…" Tim stammered. He tried to continue but saw out of the corner of his eye Ziva jump off her desk and grab Tony by the shirt.

"Ziva? What are you doing?" Tony asked nervously.

"I did not smell alcohol on your breath, Tony. But there is something else." She held her face so close to DiNozzo's mouth that they almost touched. She sniffed sharply.

"It is not on your breath."

Slowly she moved down Tony's body, and reached his naval, then began to move back up towards his shoulders. When she was almost resting her head on his shoulder, she stopped, and pressed her nose into his collar. She drew back sharply.

"Tony, where did you get this shirt?"

"Emporium on Main street, yesterday."

"No, not where you bought it, where did you get it before you put it on?"

Tony pulled his collar up to his nose and sniffed thickly. He made a face, stretching his nose down and his eyebrows up. "Ewwwwww… what is that?"

"I do not know. But…" she paused and blinked – she was getting light headed. "Tony, take off your shirt. Now!"

She didn't wait for Tony to act and ripped the buttons from his shirt and tore it from his shoulders.

"Hey! Expensive shirt!" Tony cried indignantly. Gibbs snatched the long sleeved shirt from Ziva's hands and inspected it closely.

"Answer her question, DiNozzo." Gibbs commanded, as he walked to his desk. He pulled an evidence bag from his cabinet. Tony's shirt was sealed in a plastic bag, and he was left standing in the middle of the room topless.

"I told you, the Emporium. I bought it yesterday. Remember? I came to work with that paper bag, and hit McGee with it? I got sauce on the one I was wearing at lunch and changed into my new one."

Gibbs, Ziva and Tim looked at one another, trying to remember. One by one, they remembered having seen the black bag beside Tony's desk during the day.

"What's on it? A drug?"

"We won't know until Abby does a tox report on it, but it looks like it. Take this down to Abby…"

"Gibbs! Gibbs!" Abby skidded into the bull pen. Her face was pink as though she had run all the way from her lab to the bull pen, and she looked worried.

"I did that thing you asked, and I found the person that had done that thing that you asked me to find was happening."

"Woah Abs. Stop. Slow down." Abby slapped her hands to her mouth. He looked at agents and decided it was OK for them to know. Gibbs softly took her hands down.

"It's ok, tell me."

"Gibbs, that person made a copy of the files. And they emailed it to an unauthorised person." She began to talk with her hands. Abby was speaking sign to Gibbs at the same time she was talking out loud. "I traced the receiver. They are a known terrorist cell. And I know who sent it. It was really easy because they used my computer." She looked down at the floor.

"Who Abs?"

Abby stared at the floor, seeing her shoeless feet and one stripy sock. Now she could remember what she had been doing last night. She and her drinking friend had gotten really drunk, and that was when they had used her computer. She looked up a little.

"Why doesn't Tony have a shirt on?"

"We think he was drugged, some one put a sedative on his collar." Gibbs replied.

Abby dropped her head again, her black pigtails blocking the people on either side of her. She knew that there was a bottle of chloroform missing from her lab. Straightening up, she turned to face Gibbs, blocking every one elses view of her front. Abby lifted her hands to just below her chin and began to finger spell. Gibbs read closely as she slowly formed the letters.

_T……I……M….._

**A/N – I would love to hear what you think of it. There are more chapters on the way, I have a plan.**


	2. Chapter 2

The interrogation room was silent. Soft lights illuminated the shiny table and the one way mirror on the wall. McGee sat up straight in his chair, staring at the empty seat opposite him. His badge and hand gun lay to his left on the otherwise clear table. In the observation room Ziva, Tony and Abby stood, dumbfounded.

When Abby told Gibbs that McGee was the leak, there had been no explosion of anger or confusion. Gibbs face turned to ash, and he turned to McGee. Their eyes met, and an unspoken conversation passed between the two. The room became an airless void, everyone unsure of what was about to unfold, everyone holding their breath. Abby stayed where she had been, facing away from her friends, her hands had crept up to her mouth and she bit her thumbnails. Gibbs put his hand lightly on McGee's shoulder and directed him out of the room.

The door to the interrogation room opened and Gibbs walked in. Not looking at McGee, he sat down and dropped a file beside Tim's effects. They sat in the dim room, not talking for what seemed an eternity. The placid expression that McGee usually wore had been replaced by a mildly irritated look. His jaw jutted out, and he clenched his teeth together – he would make Gibbs speak first. Finally Gibbs spoke.

"How long have you been stealing information from us?" Gibbs asked, making eye contact. McGee unclenched his teeth and replied coldly.

"Just under a year."

"Can you be more specific?"

"Yes." McGee replied clearly. "May fifteenth, 2007 was the date of the first file transfer."

Gibbs frowned. He had been working at NCIS for about five years before that. Was he a sleeper, or had her been turned?

"Why then?"

McGee did not reply. He just looked at Gibbs, his eyes dead. He suddenly looked tired, and the wrinkles in his clothes stood out even more from the shadows cast by the soft down lights. The chair creaked as he leaned forwards, while placing his cuffed hands on the table in front of him. He fingered the filed next to him and flipped it open. He rifled through the pages and picked out three sheets. He slapped them down on the table and dropped his head down, with his shoulders hunched over.

Gibbs stood up and slid the papers off the table. He examined them for a moment and then pressed them against the glass of the two way mirror. Abby tugged on Tony's sleeve. She crept up to the glass and tapped her finger on one of the pictures.

"That's Vladimir Turnski. He is a part of the terrorist cell M…McGee sent the files to." She whispered.

"Ziva, do you recognise the other two?" Tony asked, his arms crossed over his chest, as if he was holding himself together.

"I do not recognise them by name, but this man, I recognise. I have seen him before. He is an arms dealer." She replied, indicating with a point of her finger to one of the photographs. "I do not believe McGee would do this of his own accord. Somebody is tugging his strings."

"_Pulling _his strings, Ziva. But you're right. I don't think he would either."

Abby sniffed loudly behind them.

"Tony, what has happened to him? He drugged you! The McGee I know wouldn't do that. He stole some chloroform from my lab. _And _he used my computer to make it look as though _I _was transferring the files." She flopped to the floor and hugged her knees.

"Do not worry Abby. We will find what is happening." Ziva told her friend reassuringly as she crouched beside her. They waited on the floor in the dim recording room, not wanting to believe their friend betrayed them.

In the next room, Gibbs sat back down and handed the photographs back to McGee.

"Who are these people to you?"

"They are the only people I have seen."

"Did they contact you? Or were you placed at NCIS to gain access to these files."

Gibbs was getting angry. Angry that McGee betrayed him, angry that confidential files were stolen under his nose, angry that he chose McGee to be on his team and didn't notice who he was. Tim did not see Gibbs' colour rise to a light red, but he could here the disappointment in his boss's voice.

"I got into NCIS because I worked for it, Boss. I wasn't placed. And they didn't exactly contact me either," McGee became defensive.

"What do you mean, exactly?"

"I didn't want to do this."

"Don't give me that crap!" Gibbs shouted as he slammed his fists on the table. "At any time you could have stopped. You didn't have to give national secrets to terrorists!"

"I couldn't stop. I didn't have a choice."

"You always have a choice, McGee," Gibbs seethed. "You gave the most important weapon of the western world to the people we are trying to you them against! Now they can use them against us, and find ways to beat us. It could lead to M.A.D!"

Gibbs grabbed McGee's wrists and twisted the cuffs. The metal dug into Tim's skin and scraped his skin. He did nothing. He watched with a detached discomfort as his boss crushed his hands. Gibbs released his grip on McGee's wrists. Blood dripped from the deep scratches in Tim's flesh, but his face revealed nothing, it remained impassive.

"I can't feel it, Gibbs. I can't feel anything. Can't cry, can't feel anything towards anyone. They," he cast his bleeding hands over the three photographs, "they did this to me. I didn't want any part of it. I don't even know how they chose me."

"When did they contact you first?"

"Beginning of May. It was a Friday, after work. They were waiting for me at my house."

Gibbs sat down, trying to see the truth in Tim's emotionless face.

"Then what?"

McGee stared past Gibbs and looked at the two way mirror. He could just make out on standing figure right next to the glass. It must have been Tony. He stared at the glass and forgot that Gibbs asked him a question.

"McGee. Timothy!" Gibbs snapped McGee back to the interrogation room. "After you got home, and you found them waiting. What happened then?"

"It doesn't matter. I don't care. I don't care about it any more." McGee pulled closer to Gibbs' face. "Sitting here with you would have scared me before. The whole idea of weapons that are undetectable, that would have scared me. Of all the times I hacked into secure sites I was scared shitless of getting caught. Now, I just don't care. There is nothing I want anymore, nothing I hate. That's what I am. Nothing." He declared this with a level, matter of fact voice, as though some one had asked him the time.

His face was blank. There was no emotion. No sadness at his realisation of being caught, no fear of what was going to happen to him, no regret for what he had done. He sat there, a fraction of what he used to be. The façade he had during work had passed, because that was what he had to do to avoid detection. But now that he had been caught, his cover dropped, and there was nothing left. Just an empty shell.

"What did they do to you?"


	3. Chapter 3

McGee sat on the edge of the bed in his cell. It was quiet. And dark. He leaned back onto the cold brick wall. Night time was the worst. When he had nothing to do, or to look at, memories and images would flash through his mind. It was even worse when he slept, and all he would dream about was the night they came to his house.

_He opened his front door._

Inside, sitting on his couch were two men that he had not seen before then. They stood up when he entered.

_We would like it if you came with us. _

Their voices were polite, in the same way mob leaders in movies sounded when they told a person they had two days to deliver the money.

_No._

They stood up in unison. McGee had grabbed for his weapon, but a set of arms reached from behind and pinned his arms to his chest.

_Help! _

McGee had screamed, kicked and writhed as he tried to get out of the man's iron grip. A fist flew into his cheek and the warm metallic taste of his own blood filled his mouth. In the short moment that Tim stopped yelling a black cloth, probably a sock, was shoved into his mouth, and a dark pillowcase covered his head.

It was dark for so long that Tim gave up trying to count the corners they had been around, or how many minutes he thought had passed. When he glimpsed light next it was the yellow glow of a car headlamp. They dragged him out of the car by his arms, and he felt concrete gaze his knees and his shoulders get ripped from their sockets.

He was pulled up a flight of stairs, with every sharp edge digging into his shins. They dropped him onto a chair, and he felt his dislocated arms being tied behind him. Pain erupted in his legs as fat ropes bound his bleeding legs to the chair.

_What do you want? _

McGee cried through is gag. It was ripped from his mouth, tugging cruelly at his teeth.

_We want what we do not have. You will help us get it._

A thickly accented voice rang next to McGee's ear.

_Russians? _McGee thought. _It's a bit past the Cold War for this, isn't it?_

Tony's light hearted disregard crept into his thoughts. A bright light blinded him as the bag was removed from his head.

_Shit. _

In any book, or any film, the same thing followed a bright light shining in a person's eyes.

_We need you to work for us. But we know you will not cooperate on your own. _

Tiny spikes, all at the same time, pierced the skin on Tim's back. He turned his head and saw a man holding a sheet of what looked like carpet, but with tiny sharp spikes instead of the usual soft fibres. That sheet was pressed into his chest. Tim screamed in agony.

_Do not waste your breath, Agent McGee. Worse pain is to come. And no one will come to your rescue._

The man who had spoken to him smiled under a think moustache. He slowly pushed his finger onto the barbed carpet that covered the sensitive skin of McGee's nipple. Tears poured from his face, and he clenched his teeth hard in an attempt to stop himself crying out.

_Remember to leave his face untouched. We don't want any obvious marks._

A new voice echoed through the room. Even footsteps approached Tim, their hard heel tapping on the floor loudly with each step. The putrid scent of a cigar invaded Tim's nostrils, and the smoke stung his eyes as it was waved under his nose. A tall man in a pinstripe suit stood over McGee, his face blurred out from the light shining around it.

_You will become nothing, Special Agent McGee. The fear you experience now will just be a vague memory, if that, in your future. You will return to work, and continue to act as you normally would. But it will just be a façade. You will not feel any real feelings towards anyone, or any cause. All that you will be is a machine, controlled by me. You are not important. You will realise this. _

The man turned and coughed deeply, and then returned to suck at his cigar. He blew the smoke into McGee's face; making his prisoner squeeze his eyes shut in discomfort.

_I won't do anything for you. _

McGee spat hoarsely at his captor, his mouth dry from the sock gag. He writhed in pain as a fat rope was tied around his middle, forcing the barbs deeper into his flesh.

_We would not expect anything from you now. Had we thought it to be that easy break you we would not be here. No, the pain you will experience, will teach you that you have nothing to fear any more – because you will have experienced the worst. And because you know there is nothing worse to experience, you won't fear any thing – you won't feel any thing – you won't want anything. _

The man reached his hand out of McGee's sight and came back holding a three pronged instrument.

_I would like to show you one of my most favoured possessions. It is a medieval torture device, called a pear. _

He peeled off the top corner of barbed mat slowly, making sure that each spike pulled at Tim's flesh. McGee watched with fear-widened eyes as the metal implement came closer to his skin. With a sudden burst of speed, the faceless man thrust the pear into Tim's shoulder. McGee could not stop screaming out as it was twisted inside his muscle.

_The most fascinating part about the pear is that it works like pliers, only in reverse. When I twist the end, the prongs will spread apart, separating anything that it is inserted into. _

McGee shuddered and turned his face as far around as her could, trying not to see his blood leak from his body. He gasped as the man twisted the pear, opening it and tearing his shoulder apart. Time and time again, with agonisingly slow twists, the pear was spread wider and wider. Tears poured down his face, and his face turned red as he held his breath, trying to work to the horrific pain. He dropped in and out of consciousness, his world either being black, or filled with burning agony.

For one short moment Tim thought he had gained a reprieve from the pain as the metal device was tugged from his shoulder, but a new pain replaced it. He looked up and saw the moustached man pouring salt over the gaping wound in his shoulder.

_What…_

Tim gasped, as an icy cold bucket of water was thrown over him. He could hear a soft buzz behind him, and something being dragged towards him.

_Electricity is a fascinating thing, Special Agent McGee. Strictly speaking, we all have electricity running through our bodies all the time, but as some say, there can be too much of a good thing. _

Two alligator clips loomed in front of McGee's face, and arcs of blue electricity passed between them. They dug into Tim's side, causing excruciating pain where they pushed into his ribs, but pain erupted all over his body as the electricity coarse through the water. His wet clothes began to sizzle audibly and smoke. The next three words he heard where the only ones spoken for the following hours. Over and over again the man holding the cables would lift his head and request from another –

_Increase the voltage._

The cell door slid open, admitting Gibbs. He sat beside McGee, who had not acknowledged his presence. He sat staring at the opposite wall, unblinking. The cell door slammed shut.

"Will you talk to me?" Gibbs asked, fixing his gaze on the same point on the wall as McGee.

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"You of all people should know, Gibbs. Torture changes a person." McGee answered icily.

"I never saw any marks on you, Tim." Gibbs said apologetically.

"You wouldn't have. Unlike Tony, I always wear a shirt in public." McGee averred.

He pulled at the collar of his prison clothes and bared his chest. Tiny purple scars covered his entire upper body, along with some inch-wide circular wound. Shiny lines ran up and down his chest, interrupted by large burns. The burns were the worst. Any area of skin that was not covered by precise scars or visible under his shirt was swathes in ugly burns.

Gibbs sat speechlessly. The damage was monumental. How could he not have noticed?

"What did they use…?"

McGee finally faced Gibbs.

"Knives, electricity. Some of the tools were old, medieval actually. Maximum pain, minimum effort." McGee's upper lip twitched. "They broke me, Gibbs, and made me their puppet."

His sallow face scared Gibbs, so did the way the McGee spoke. It was so unlike him, there was no innocence, or intelligence. Gibbs looked down at the young mans hands, and the bright red cuts the he had made the day before.

"I'm sorry, McGee."

"It's a little late for apologies, Gibbs. For everyone. I wish I could apologise for what I did, but I can't. I haven't got the effort. I'd be lying if I did. I'm not even sorry for my self."

He turned so his whole body faced his NCIS boss.

"After they took me home, and after I woke up on my kitchen floor, I didn't know what to do. I had forgotten what a person does in their house. There was a knife in the sink, and I picked it up. I drove it into my leg. I didn't feel it, like I don't feel anything now. The only thing I feel now is this tiny gnawing in the pit of my stomach, and I don't know what it is. What is it, Gibbs?"

A vague curiosity crossed McGee's face, like a small child asking their parent the meaning of a new word. Gibbs grasped McGee on the shoulder.

"I think it's you. I think it's the old you. Trying to come back."

Tim pulled out of Gibbs' grasp shaking his head. He moved to the other end of his bed.

"You know that's bullshit. You want it to be me, you want there to be I chance that I am still the same person in there somewhere."

Abby appeared at the bars, and the door was opened again. The guard declared only one visitor at a time, so Gibbs stood up and left, hesitantly looking over his shoulder as he passed his friend.

"Timothy!" She ran into the cell and jumped onto the bed. Kneeling, she grabbed McGee's head and forced him to look at her.

"McGee? Are you in there?" Her eyes were wide and brimming with tears.

"I guess not."

"Then who are you?"

"I don't know."

Abby threw her arms around him and began to sob.

_It's not fair. It's not fair, _she cried into his shirt.

The gnawing in the pit of his stomach grew, and a tiny flicker in the back of his mind let him feel the warmth of her embrace. His hand reached up and stroked Abby's back. He couldn't decide whether he was pretending again, or if he was actually feeling it for real. From outside McGee's cell Gibbs watched protectively over them, and he thought he saw a glisten of water on McGee's cheek.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry this is a short chapter, but it seemed like a good place to stop. I don't know anything about the extradition process, nor do I know much about Federal Prisons. I did research a little to find Leavenworth, but only briefly so if I got some things wrong please let me know and I'll try and fix it. Please review!**

McGee stood up in his cell, getting tangled in his too-big orange prison clothes. He frowned when he heard the ominous clanking of several pairs of shoes approaching. The officer with the cell keys appeared at the door with other men. They lifted the side of their coats to reveal shiny badges and side arms, identifying them as FBI.

"Timothy McGee, you are to be escorted to an FBI facility. There you will be subject to a series of interviews with a number of international law enforcement agencies. A request for your immediate extradition to Britain has been made, and a decision will be made after your interviews," one of the men declared as the cell door was opened.

Handcuffs were slapped onto McGee's wrists and he was directed into the corridor. They had only walked about a foot when Gibbs rounded the corner and marched up to them.

"You can't take him anywhere. Not without direct approval from the director of NCIS. He is in _our _custody." Gibbs glared at the FBI agents and the prison guard.

"Sorry, Gibbs." One of the agents stepped in front of McGee. "He's in our custody now. Terrorism laws won't allow him to stay with NCIS. We don't know if there are other moles. And we don't need approval from NCIS, this comes from the White House. We also have intell that the people he was giving the information to are trying to get a hold of him, stop him from giving the agency details about their operation."

McGee stood listening, detached from the actual conversation, and unconcerned that it was about him. As Gibbs argued with the FBI agents, Tim waited patiently. In the back of his mind, he could feel something strange emerge. Since he had been in the holding cell, and since Abby had come to visit, he had begun to feel… more awake. For such a long time he had been in a slumber, filled with nightmares. It was like he had been numb. But now, tiny pieces of him were beginning to defrost.

It hit him. He was starting to feel afraid. Not very afraid, but scared in a vague way. He knew there was something to be afraid of, but it didn't quite seem real. A rough push brought him back to what was happening.

"McGee, I won't let them extradite you. Just tell them the truth," Gibbs growled past the FBI agents.

McGee was pushed down the corridor. He tried to turn around and reach for Gibbs, the fear rising inside him.

"Gibbs, where are they taking me?" He tried to push his way towards his boss. The calm and emotionless demeanour he had displayed fell away and was replaced by hysterics. The full weight of what had happened to him, what he had done, and what was going to happen to him dawned on him. His composure was forgotten and he fought against his restraints, pulling himself out of the agents' grips. He began to scream.

"Gibbs, Boss! I don't want to go with them!" He thrashed about and tried to run towards the closest thing to a friend he had. "Gibbs! I'm sorry. It wasn't my fault. I didn't want to do it! They made me."

He fell to the floor, weeping.

"They made me."

Gibbs watched, torn inside. It killed him to see this. He crouched down next to McGee and whispered to him, his voice breaking.

"I know, Tim. I'll tell them for you."

"Don't let them send me away," Tim whispered, his eyes wide open with fear. Tears poured down his face. He trembled as the prison guard pulled him to his feet, but his knees collapsed beneath him. The guard pulled him up again roughly. Tim didn't have time to stand up, and he was dragged down the corridor, one FBI agent under each arm. He slid silently down the hall, the orange prison suit longer than his legs fell past his shoes.

"Boss, don't let them take me." McGee looked confused. Why couldn't Gibbs stop them? Gibbs stood at the open door of the McGee's cell, helplessly. He couldn't stop it. Not here, or now. But he couldn't tell McGee. Gibbs was the only life-line that Tim had, and for him to be unable to help would send Tim back to the cold and emotionless place he had just left.

Gibbs looked at the floor, avoiding McGee's pleading gaze. He looked up in time to see McGee's orange feet disappear around the corner. A wave of anger passed over him. He marched to the front desk and leaned over the bench, surprising the woman behind.

"Where are they transferring him?" Gibbs demanded.

The receptionist looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"Where are they transferring who," she glanced at his visitor's badge, "Special Agent Gibbs?"

"McGee! Timothy McGee. Prisoner in cell eleven!" His voice rose, as did the colour in his face.

The receptionist paused her nail filing, and lifted a piece of paper next to her.

"Fort Leavenworth."

"Leavenworth?" Gibbs was incredulous. "McGee in a maximum security prison?"

The idea was almost laughable. But it was just like the rest of the situation, unbelievable and unfair. The receptionist looked up at him and rattled of a memorised speech.

"The prisoner with which you are concerned has been relocated to Fort Leavenworth and awaits trial there. If you wish to enquire about said prisoner please ring this number," she thrust a slip of paper towards Gibbs across the bench, "and make your enquiry there."

She finished and returned to filing her nails.

Gibbs pushed away from the desk and walked dejectedly out of the watch house.

~~~~~~~­­

"Leavenworth? You've got to be joking," Tony exclaimed. "Yeah Boss. On it, Boss."

Tony snapped his phone closed and turned to Ziva, who was looking at him curiously.

"What is Gibbs joking about?" She asked.

"He wasn't joking... The FBI have taken McGee to Fort Leavenworth. ­A maximum security prison. Can you believe it?" Tony replied as he jumped off his chair.

"Yes, but I would not have ever thought that it could happen," Ziva shook her head. "What did Gibbs want you to do?"

Tony swung his jacket on and grabbed his badge and gun from his drawer.

"Were going to Kansas. Come on Dorothy, grab your gear."

Ziva leap up and flashed her badge and side arm, already at her waist. They reached the elevator and were enveloped in dim light.

"Why does the FBI have Tim? Why did are they taking him out of our custody?"

Tony frowned when he replied, "International pressure. Some people want to extradite him to the UK. That's why you and I are meeting Gibbs in Kansas, to make sure McGee has every chance of staying in the States."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Still don't own NCIS. Still working on it.**

**A/N – Sorry it has taken ages to update, festive season and all. Also I am pretty sure people aren't allowed to just sit outside prisoner's cells in Fort Leavenworth, but for imaginations sake and keeping the story simple and how I want it – we can just pretend. Thanks for all the reviews – I would love more :P **

"What do you mean, _you've come for him?_" Tony demanded.

He pushed himself up from the floor - he had been leaning on the door of McGee's cell. A stocky man in a dark suit stood before Tony, a large briefcase in his hand. When he spoke, his vowels rolled off his tongue, his British accent crisp and perfect. Tony pulled his jacket tighter over shoulders and glared at the man. Even though Tony towered over the Englishman, Tony could see that the other man was not in the least intimidated.

"Special Agent DiNozzo, we have reached an agreement with your government. I have the authority to remove Mr McGee from the protection of Fort Leavenworth and transfer him to a secure British facility." The man spoke calmly, and stared past Tony whilst he talked. He looked at the shadow-encased form that was Tim, cowering in the dark cell. He lowered his voice.

"Why is he…?" He inclined his head and indicated to Tim in the darkness. Tony relaxed his stance and lowered his voice to reply.

"Did you read the report?" The Englishman nodded. "Well, he's gone through a few phases. One where he didn't care, he lost everything – emotion basically. Another when he realised what he did, he essentially broke down. Now…" he turned around to look at the figure huddled in the corner of the tiny room, "he has completely shut everyone out. He won't talk, won't move, won't eat. We think it has something to do with when the FBI took him out of NCIS custody. Gibbs was there, and McGee couldn't understand why Gibbs couldn't stop this."

"Does he know that Gibbs has no weight in the whole situation now?"

Tony glared at the man in front of him.

"Don't underestimate Gibbs. He has a lot of influence, he just needs time. But that is what McGee thinks. Frankly… I am scared shitless for him." Tony's mood darkened, and he began to feel anger rising in him. "Don't think for one second that we are going to make it easy for you to get him out of the country."

"Are you threatening the British government, Special Agent DiNozzo?" He gripped his briefcase tighter, his knuckles getting paler each second. Tony snorted.

"Nooo, I would never dream of that." Tony mocked, backing away with his hands in the air. A thin smile crossed his lips, making him look slightly sadistic, which wasn't far from his mindset then.

"Special Agent DiNozzo, I do not have a personal issue with you or Mr McGee. I am simply doing my job."

"And loving every second of it," Tony sneered. He crossed his arms and pressed his lips together in a thin line. He wasn't going to talk again. He would make this man show what he was really here for.

The Englishman sighed inwardly and straightened his shoulders. He cleared his throat. He would start again.

"Special Agent DiNozzo," he set his jaw. "I am Agent Hamilton, British Government. I have to take Timothy McGee into British custody. Please stand aside whilst I remove him from this cell."

Tony didn't move. Hamilton pushed Tony aside, forcing him to reluctantly move his arms and legs to stop himself from falling on the floor. He watched interestedly as Hamilton stood in the doorway of the open cell.

"Timothy McGee. Will you please come with me," he commanded in a barely civil tongue. Tim didn't move.

Hamilton's patience was wearing.

_What is it with these bloody Americans?_

"Timothy McGee. Please stand up," he said more forcefully. When he was replied by nothing but silence once more he moved towards the frozen figure in the darkness. He roughly grabbed for Tim's shoulder.

Tim suddenly lashed out. His arm slammed into Hamilton's face, knocking him into the wall.

"I won't go!" Tim screamed as Hamilton fought to keep his flailing arms at bay. The Englishman rammed Tim into the other wall, winding him. They were both on the offensive, striking the other with as much force as they could, striving for the upper hand. Hamilton called for assistance from Tony, who stood at the door with a frozen look on his face. Tony was torn between wanting to help McGee and wanting to get him under control and get him out of sight.

"You can't make me go!" McGee screamed over and over again. The two men grappled and knocked into the table, bed and bookcase, scraping their skin and gouging flesh.

At last the prison guards entered the room and separated the two, pinning Tim to the wall, mashing his face into the cold concrete, and cuffing him. Tim lashed out and started kicking.

"McGee," a deep voice echoed into the cell. "That's enough."

Tim stopped kicking and turned to face the man addressing him. His jaw grated over the rough concrete as he slid towards the light.

Gibbs stood at the bars, his arms by his side.

"Why should a listen to you?" Tim growled. He kicked out again and tried to push off the wall. The guards twisted him and slammed him hard into the ground, and one knelt on Tim's back, crushing his ribs.

Tim looked up at Gibbs, his chin bleeding as he lifted his head from the ground like a seal.

"McGee," Gibbs commanded his agent's attention. He knelt down, sliding his hand down the bars as he descended. "You should listen to me, because you don't want to add assault and grievous bodily harm to your charges."

"What's and extra five years?" McGee cynically grumbled. "I'm going to be in prison for the rest of my life anyway. If I'm lucky. I'll probably be hanged anyway."

"I won't let that happen. Don't give up." Gibbs pressed closer.

"What are you going to do? You've run out of pulling power. And why do you even care?" McGee wriggled under the weight of the prison guard. "You stand there and pretend that you are my friend, and you don't even call me by my first name. You never have. Neither of you ever did." He jerked his head towards Tony.

"Even if you weren't my friend Tim, I would still help you."

"Don't try and make it better now, Gibbs. They say your true colours are revealed when things get rough, but they are wrong. When things are bad for others, you pity them, and pretend to be noble." Tim spat. "Your true colours are never revealed, they are always there. People just don't notice when you change shades."

The guard pulled Tim off the floor and pushed him roughly through the door past Gibbs and Tony. Tim kept his head down and refused to meet his former colleagues' eyes.

Hamilton picked up his briefcase and brushed his jacket down.

"I suppose I'll see at the airport. I've been told to expect last minute interventions from you lot." He told the NCIS agents distastefully. Tony and Gibbs stood still, their minds ticking away trying to think of their next moves, while Hamilton tapped down the hall, a hint of the tiny victory he had won evident in his step.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry it has taken a long time to update – inspiration has been hard to come by so I have been re-watching episodes. Hope you enjoy, please review.**

"Uh, Boss? What are we going to do? What's your plan? How are we going to stop…" Tony slowed mid-sentence and stopped. "You haven't got a plan yet. If you did you would have already told me."

Gibbs looked up from his desk, a look of mild annoyance etched across his face. He grasped his early morning coffee tightly, causing it to quiver slightly in his hand. Tony backed away, and sat on the edge of his desk. Sitting at her chair across from him, Ziva glanced between the two men, her elbows resting on her neglected paperwork.

"We must do something," she demanded, slicing her hands through the air, as if to cut away something blocking her view. Something that was stopping her from seeing how they could keep Tim.

"I know Ziva, but it isn't that easy," Gibbs snapped. The Mossad agent was slightly taken aback.

For a moment Gibbs and Ziva sat in angry silence, with Tony oblivious to their moods. He was fiddling with a folder that he had picked up from McGee's desk. The black vinyl on the corner peeled away slightly and Tony absently tugged at it. Underneath the black was a pale cardboard, keeping shape of the folder. A new and out-of-place colour entered the mixture.

_Red? _Tony's brain automatically analysed, then dismissed.

"How come it has been so easy for the British Government to extradite Tim? Gibbs, it has been too fast," Ziva demanded answers again. She watched the anger in Gibbs ebb away, and he sighed.

"Because, Ziva, our Governments are exchanging custody of McGee for another prisoner. The FBI has been trying to extradite Michael Jacobs for years, and they thought they could arrange a swap. And they did," Gibbs growled.

"What did Jacobs do?"

"He's one of the men in the terrorist cell McGee was informing. You know Jacobs, but not by name," Gibbs thrust a photograph towards Ziva. She gingerly took it from his grip and scanned the image. It was a mugshot of the man she had identified as a weapons dealer during McGee's interrogation.

"Do they know he was involved with McGee's case?"

"Yes. But that doesn't matter. They want him on different charges. We need to make a connection between McGee and Jacobs, stronger than just McGee's word, so the FBI has to have custody of both to investigate the case."

Tony jumped from his desk and almost launched himself at Gibbs.

"You mean like this, Gibbs?" He handed over a photograph.

"What's this?" Gibbs looked up at Tony, confused.

Tony brandished the folder, with the vinyl casing flapping.

"McGee had it hidden inside this!" Ziva joined them at Gibbs' desk, so they were all towering over the photograph of McGee and Jacobs. It was a frame from a security camera video with Jacobs pushing McGee into a car.

"Why would he hide it there? Why would he get the photo in the first place?" Ziva wondered out loud.

"He must have had a clear day, when he knew things weren't right. Just in case, you know?" Tony deduced, whilst leaning back and crossing his arms. "Will this do? Will it keep Tim in the States?"

Gibbs pressed his lips together, thinking hard.

"It will hold things up, for sure. But it won't keep him here for very long."

Tony and Ziva stood uncertainly in front of Gibbs' desk, looking at one another. Gibbs scrabbled through some papers, and looked at them again.

"Well? What are you two still doing here? Call the FBI and the airport! And send them a copy of the photograph!"

Ziva and Tony snapped into action and jumped at their phones. The NCIS telephones had never been so abused. Gibbs swept from the bull pen and towards the elevator as Tony slammed the phone into the cradle.

"They're at the airport, plane's held on the ground."

Gibbs paused and turned at the divider. He raised his eyebrows and jerked towards the elevator, and he continued his march to the lift.

"On your six, Boss!" Tony reacted quickly, grabbing his bag and badge, and chased after Gibbs.

******

Tim looked through the glass wall and at the private jet taxiing away from the main air strip, and back to the hanger. His shoulders relaxed slightly – he wasn't going to get on a plane today. The FBI agents standing around him, their backs to him, seemed to tense up and close in on him. Hamilton sat beside Tim, still clutching his ever-present brief case. In his other hand, Hamilton's cell phone rested between lightly coiled fingers, the back light on the small screen still glowing. The British agent willed the light to stay on, to allow him the illusion that he had only just received the call, and that he still had some time before he had to tell his superiors about it.

Tim and Hamilton looked up He wHesimultaneously, alerted by the further stiffening of the surrounding FBI agents, and were greeted by a stern-faced Fornell. Like his NCIS counterpart, Fornell cradled a tall coffee cup in his arms as he marched towards the huddle.

"Agent Hamilton," he drawled as he passed through the circle of his agents. The two examined one another, each acknowledging that Hamilton was clearly looking more worse-for-wear than Fornell. The American agent wore a cleanly pressed coat with a crisp tie, in comparison to the Englishman's crumpled suit with evidence of his haphazard counter breakfast of donuts on the collar.

"Have you come to gloat, Agent Fornell? Or do you make a habit of waking yourself unnecessarily early on a Sunday morning to transfer prisoners," Hamilton muttered, as he dipped his head and thrust himself back into the departing lounge chair.

"I would like to say either, but I try not to lie on Sundays," Fornell replied with a small yet good natured smile. Even though he believed it was never too early in the morning to get into an argument, he couldn't bring himself to ruin this mans day even further. It had only just begun – and it would get worse with out his help.

"Are you ready to go, McGee?" He leaned towards Tim, and mentally checked him for signs of stress. When he found none, he stood up tall and straightened his jacket. "Come on, I want to enjoy at least some of my weekend. It will take hours to process you again."

Tim stood eagerly and followed Fornell with out acknowledging the British agent again. The twelve-large FBI guard maintained their protective ring around their charge as they made their way to the parking lot.

When he was completely alone, Hamilton spread his knees and rested his elbows on them, burying his face in his hands. He dreaded the moment when his phone would ring, to release a steady and loud flow of abuse travel from London to his ear. It had been his job to ensure that they could trade McGee for Jacobs, and he had blown it. Resigning himself to the fact he had probably just lost his job, he stood and trudged to the exit. The automatic doors opened and he watched McGee, Fornell and his job walk away into the overcast day.

Hamilton blinked as he followed their path with his eyes to the agency cars at the other end of the lot, over a hundred yards away. Not even government sanctioned prisoner transfers could gain them even one close parking space. A split second later, Hamilton was grateful for distance. Shrapnel that had rocketed through the air fell about him as he hit the floor, covering his head. His ears throbbed and threatened to rupture as sound blasted over him. A wave of heat washed past and made the hairs on his head wither. When the sounds of metal sprinkling onto the pavement ceased, he looked up. A tower of smoke rose from a smouldering car shell, surrounded by thirteen FBI agents and their captive lying frozen and scattered beneath the rubble.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Sorry it has taken so long to update, school has started again and I have not had much muse. **_

_Smoke filled Tim's lungs, burning down his throat and trying to eat its way out. He squeezed his eyes together and pressed his lips together, trying to block out the putrid stench, but a new flavour exploded in his mouth. Blood and tar filled his mouth and gritted his teeth. He could feel heaviness on his legs and chest and through the black smoke Tim could see a black clad agent lying over him, pinning him to the ground. His wrists screamed with agony from beneath the FBI agent as he tried to wriggle free and away from the heat licking at his legs. _

_Tim could vaguely hear alarms, but the blood pulsing through his eardrums blocked out most of the recognisable sounds. The man on top of him convulsed and rolled off him, allowing Tim to suck a short breath of smoky yet precious air. His face dragged through the sharp metal shards on the ground as he pulled himself across the tar. Jagged edges ripped at his skin through his jacket, and his handcuffs dug into his bones. He choked as the smoke invaded deeper into his lungs, the precious oxygen he gasped for never arrived, and he succumbed to the toxic air._

"Don't stand there and tell me what happened again! I want you to go out there and find me the asshole that did this!" Fornell slammed the receiver down so angrily the cradle cracked. With both of his hands he pushed the phone away, off his desk. Agents outside his glass-walled office stood up and peered over their dividers, curious as to what had upset Fornell this time. He took his time and glared down every inquisitive agent until he found self attempting to stare down his own reflection in the glass. In a fit of anger, he dropped his face onto his desk. Anger at not knowing what to do. He picked up the disposable coffee cup beside him and set it back down again, his head still lying on his desk. Again he picked it up, only each time he did he set it down a bit harder. Several minutes later he was slamming the cup onto his desk, the remaining liquid in it had leaked and been sprayed over the paper-covered desk.

Fornell looked up when the cup refused to lift up again. Gibbs stood above him, pressing his hand down on the Styrofoam cup.

"What the fuck do you want, Gibbs?" He asked, more exasperated than angry.

"I want to know what you are doing about the attack on McGee."

"You want to know? Hell, Gibbs. I want to know. All I know is that every agency in the entire country knows that I screwed up and a dozen of _my _people _and _an internationally wanted criminal ended up in hospital."

Gibbs pushed a pile of folders of a chair and sat down. He looked up and down Fornell, and finally spoke.

"I never thought I'd say this Tobias, but I think you need to cut down on coffee."

Fornell's chin dropped slightly, and he sat quietly dumbstruck.

"Before you say anything," Gibbs held up his hands, "I know that I would feel exactly the same as you if I were in the same situation. Hell, I'd probably be worse. But, you haven't slept for three days. It's Monday morning. You didn't sleep last night, obviously, and you didn't sleep the night before because you were here. Paper work on a Saturday night? Come on, Tobias. No one needs to do paper work that urgently. You've been living on coffee. You're already a bastard when you've had enough sleep, don't make it any worse."

Fornell shrugged.

"Do I look like I give a crap if other people have issues with my behaviour at the moment, Jethro? No. Because I have to get a job done." He leaned over and grabbed his coat, and stood up.

"I'm going to the airport. Coming?"

Gibbs rose, giving off an air of nonchalance while hiding his inner worry about Tim.

*********

Tim woke to the awkward sensation of plastic tubing being pressed into his nose. It took a short while for his eyes to focus on the silver bed head at his feet, and then a little longer for the rest of the room to come into view. He could see several other occupied beds in the ward, with a few nurses scattered between them. The bed squeaked as he sat up, feeling a stiffness in his ribs. A nurse spied his movements and was at his side immediately.

"Timothy, how are you feeling?"

McGee couldn't answer because his mouth was dry, so he indicated to the cup on the table just outside his reach. He swallowed and took a moment to revel in the cool, smooth liquid.

"OK?" He rasped, unsure himself on his status.

"That's good to hear. You don't have any serious injuries, you were very lucky. Seems government issued Kevlar is paying dividends," she smiled warmly. "You have a cracked rib, some deep lacerations on your extremities, and bruising."

"You call that lucky…?"

"Well, from an explosion of that size," she glanced to a bed at the end of the ward. "Agent Jefferson was standing in front of you when the bomb went off. He bore the brunt of the explosion. His right arm had to be amputated, and he had internal bleeding. Shrapnel ruptured his liver and spleen. He'll live, but…" Her voice trailed off as she remembered she had revealed too much personal information.

"I'm sorry, please don't tell anyone. I can never stop myself." She pleaded.

Tim pressed his lips together and traced his fingers over them, zipping them tight. The young nurse was relieved and moved to check McGee's vitals again. Tim slid down into his mattress, and closed his eyes. He _had _been lucky. It had been his fault. If he had not been involved, Jefferson would still have his arm, still have a job. How many FBI agents can do their job with one arm? McGee tucked his knees up to his chest, feeling the dark mist creep into him again.

********

Gibbs stared across the interrogation table at Michael Jacobs. Fornell stood behind the prisoner, sandwiching his between two anger-radiating men.

"How do you know McGee?" Gibbs asked for the eleventh time that afternoon. He had repeated it in the same, seething tone each time.

From their usual position behind the darkened glass, Tony and Ziva stood watching.

"He is….Unbreakable. Not even Gibbs could get this airhole," Ziva breathed.

"Asshole, Ziva. Surely you and your super ninja Mossad skills could do the trick?" Tony smirked half-heartedly.

"I would love to try, Tony. I would do anything to get McGee back."

Tony raised an eyebrow.

"And yet you are still here," he thought for a moment. "You already asked Gibbs if you could have a go at Jacobs, didn't you?"

"Ha! You and your assumptions."

Tony raised his other eyebrow in disbelief.

"I didn't ask. He is uncannily quick for a man of his age." Ziva crossed her arms unhappily. She slumped against the wall and balanced on one leg, staring into the interrogation room. Tony examined her face, wondering just how far she might have gone had Gibbs allowed her. He jumped as Ziva suddenly stepped forward and pushed his out of the way. She pressed her nose to the glass, holding her breath. Her head tipped from side to side slightly. Jacobs was still sitting quietly at the table, with Gibbs and Fornell still glaring at him. Ziva turned swiftly and towards the door.

"Ziva!" Tony caught her arm. "Don't ever interrupt Gibbs in interrogation."

She slapped his hand away.

"Then what do you propose I do?"

"About what?"

She dragged Tony to the glass and jabbed her finger towards Jacobs.

"Can you not see that? His face! Can't you read it? He is planning something. Something that he will do in that room."

"Do you mean that he has a weapon with him?"

Ziva shook her hands in front of Tony's face, exasperated.

"Yes!"

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N – Again sorry for the long delay, I hope this will reignite the flames of interest for you faithful readers (and the new). Thanks for all the fantastic reviews and alerts, you get me motivated. Enjoy! O.**

"What sort of weapon!?!"

Ziva slapped Tony's forehead and scrunched her face. She shook her head violently, clenching her teeth.

"I cannot tell. But I do know where it is." She traced her finger over the glass. The smudge on the tinted window trailed down in front of Jacobs, passing over his shoulder and encircling his hip, just below the glass table.

"We have to tell Gibbs," Ziva turned to run out of the door again. Tony stopped her again.

"Did I not just say two seconds ago you don't interrupt Gibbs in interrogation?" Tony said, exasperated.

"But - "

"Bu-ut nothing. He already knows," Tony inclined his head towards the one way glass. Gibbs was standing up facing the glass, away from Jacobs. Fornell was still behind the prisoner, arms crossed, watching Gibbs.

"He knows."

Ziva narrowed her eyes and scanned the room again, this time looking at her boss's face.

"Fine."

The pair returned to their normal observing positions, side by side facing the dark glass.

"Is that all he has?" Tony suddenly pushed, feeling mildly annoyed that he couldn't see the tell tale signs of Jacobs's confidence.

Ziva flicked a silencing glare at him as Gibbs began to speak.

"Why did you choose McGee?"

Bags below Gibbs's eyes were the only signs of his weariness, his shoulders were still straight and his hands softly clenching in silent threats. Jacobs watched patiently, silently amusing himself with counting the wrinkles on his interrogator's arms, counting each of them as an individual weakness.

"McGee. Why did you choose McGee."

It wasn't a question anymore. It was a sound, a tune, an irritating song that stuck in peoples' heads and wouldn't leave until it was replaced by one even more irritating.

Gibbs whispered it again, now standing behind his prisoner.

None of the three men in the small room was paying attention to the words or each other, and they all knew it.

Fornell yawned, idly playing with his biro trying to make himself look more bored than borderline comatose. He could not bear to drag himself into a rage, but he knew he would soon have to. Stabbing his finger in the air towards the one way mirror with as much aggression he could muster, Fornell singled out one shadowed outline. His hand curled into an empty fist, like he was holding a cup, while his lips and eyes narrowed. Dropping the pen, his other hand pointed to its empty counterpart. A silent satisfaction washed through the exhausted FBI agent as he watched, he assumed, Tony's shadow practically sprint from the room to do his bidding.

He stood up and opened the door a coffee cup's width, intercepting Tony's delivery without a word. The black table quivered slightly as Fornell sat down roughly, this time facing Jacobs.

"Why did you choose McGee?" He asked offhandedly through his oversized paper cup, his voice warbling slightly.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and walked to the door and another coffee cup entered the room in a timely fashion.

The two agents now sat side by side and simultaneously took a long draw from cups and set them down with a self satisfied sigh. A quiet and dark stare, which to an outsider looked hateful, was exchanged between them. They were ready.

"I saw what you did to him. I know how you did it. I know how much pain you put him through, and I know _you _know how much pain it took to break him more than you needed to," Gibbs said, the end of his sentence too low and inaudible for the recording equipment in the room but loud enough for Jacobs.

The weapons dealer leaned forwards, greedily and menacingly breathing in the fresh coffee. He grinned.

"I know."

His voice was higher than either of the agents expected, and the hint of a Russian accent was almost comical. Fornell coughed into his cup and earned a dirty look from Gibbs. He recovered as he slowly put his cup down.

"You seem to know a lot of things, things that you really shouldn't know."

Fornell sounded like he was talking to a five year old.

"Knowledge is valuable. Information is powerful. And sometimes a better weapon than guns and bullets. Think of the damage I have already done today. Your diplomatic ties with Britain have been set back years." He leaned further forward so that he was no longer sitting, his face a moustache width away from Fornell's.

"You won't be able to exchange another prisoner for years."

Fornell was still too tired to understand the magnitude and the reality of what Jacobs said, but it shook Gibbs more awake than he had been in days.

"Why would we want to exchange another prisoner?"

A one-sided smile stretched across Jacobs's face, made even more unbalanced by his straight-bottomed moustache.

"I may have been involved in _turning _your agent, but I am not the biggest fish that you could shoot in this barrel, Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs." Jacobs drawled the last words of his sentence with a false bravado and leaned back in his chair, triumphant.

Gibbs studied the criminal. Empathy or any emotional regard for other people was never his strong suit in work. Frustration would have usually overcome him by now, leading to his slamming the table and playing out a 'bad cop/worse cop' scene with Fornell and getting nothing except a few bruises… on their prisoner. For once a lack of energy and focus actually helped him. Fornell too.

Their lazy gazes led them to stare at the far edge of the table, avoiding having silent conversations with Jacobs through their eyes, and near his hip. Something in the way he sat, unconsciously presenting proudly his point of strength. Jacobs hand rested on the table above his pelvis.

And something about the way he held his mouth slightly open.

"Stand up," Gibbs demanded.

Jacobs did so, with a smooth flourish of his hand cuffs. His grey prison overalls hung awkwardly to one side now that Gibbs looked closer. Being tired rarely had more than one up side.

Gibbs pushed the Russian into the wall, the palm of his hand spread firmly and squarely between Jacobs's shoulder blades.

"Fornell," Gibbs invited the shorter man to carry out the frisk with a cold politeness, aimed more as a threat to the man pressed against the wall rather than incivility towards the other agent. "Right hip."

"Clearly," the FBI agent said in his softly irate voice.

Through the fabric of the prison garb, Fornell felt the Russian smile. Patting down over a hip bone, he felt a tiny and alien lump. As he pulled the material into his hand, he lost contact with his discovery.

"It's in his fucking skin," Fornell growled, looking upwards to Gibbs.

Gibbs gave Jacobs a final shove into the hard wall and stormed from interrogation. He opened the door to the viewing room just long enough to make a demand.

"Get Ducky."

Tony looked at Ziva pointedly.

"Go on, fetch," Tony said, his fingers shooing her away.

"What?"

Tony dipped his head and raised his eyebrows, making his pointed look downright obvious.

"He was looking at you when he was speaking."

"Gibbs wasn't looking at anyone, but he is," Tony hid his mouth behind his hand as he spoke and directed his gaze towards the mirror.

Fornell was walking behind a seated Jacobs, a forceful hand pushing the smiling prisoner down on his way out, the other hand pointing at Ziva.

"Now," Tony drawled, "I may not be multilingual, nor can I speak sign language, but I am pretty sure that he wants _you _to get Ducky."

She started for the door but it opened before she reached it.

"No need to collect me like a postage stamp, my dear. No… I should have come sooner. I cannot believe I missed it on that man's screening." Ducky bustled through the door, hands overfilled with x-ray sheets and a small bag, eyes down in a flustered search. He paused and looked up. "Where is Jethro?"

"No doubt he has gone to the elevator with Fornell for a 'conference'," Ziva offered.

"He's left the prison alone?" Ducky sounded incredulous.

"Strictly speaking, yeah, Duck. But we are here watching him." Tony shrugged, not noticing the doctor's rising panic.

"Get in there! Get in there and keep his hands away from his hip!" Ducky dropped his burden and shoved Tony and Ziva towards the door.

As the pair sped confusedly into the next room a flurry of red pulsing alarm lights replaced the normal white yellow glow.


End file.
